


A Garden of Bitter Fruit

by lalalyds2



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, F/F, No Smut, Sibling Incest, Spellcest, because it's Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, but sort of alludes to it, but sort of doesn't, mentions of cannibalism, ridiculous amounts of fruit mention, you'll get it once you read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 09:52:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalyds2/pseuds/lalalyds2
Summary: The years change things.But not sisters.Their hearts and hands run in similar circles.They come back.They share.It's what they do.Until they don't anymore.





	A Garden of Bitter Fruit

**Author's Note:**

> this doesn't run in the same story line as my 'a little death' series  
> it started out as an examination of the Dark! stuff hilda does.  
> wound up a study on zelda.  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 

Summer idyllic.

Smiling skies.

Frowning Zelda.

Hilda is too young for necromancy.

But here she is.

Circled by blackened field, a dead cricket, steadily colder field mouse.

Dancing with stolen life, Hilda’s favorite garden snake blinks.

“You’re eight.”

Zelda’s mystified.

They haven’t been taught this.

She hasn’t.

She’s always been first.

“I wanted him back.”

Spoken simply.

As if it is simple.

“Mother won’t be happy.”

“Father won’t care.”

Sore spot.

Favoritism only gifted to the heir and spare daughter.

Battle already lost.

“Don’t do it again.”

“What if he dies?”

“Let him.”

A hard look.

Hilda unpleasant when rankled.

Zelda goes back inside.

Another day, another dead ring.

“What is it this time?”

“Turtle. Hasn’t told me what killed him yet.”

“You have to stop this.”

“But it’s good.”

It scares her.

Hilda cannot see consequence.

She pulls the gold pigtail.

“Stop it. Or else.”

When the rabbit dies, deep breath in.

A day passes.

No grass tells.

She breathes out.

New morning.

Her windowsill sparrow does not wake her.

Hilda has brown fur on her sweater.

She does not look guilty.

Zelda says nothing.

The witching hour, Hilda sleeping next to her.

She praises Satan for silent feet.

Rucksack full of reanimated creatures, grass wet just before the forest.

She is clumsy, the axe falls weak.

Too many chops.

She would vomit, but more’s to be done.

Shaking hands strike fire.

Twigs and leaves up in smoke, a sack for potatoes serves a death shroud.

They can’t come back this time.

A wail behind her.

Little Hilda’s face torn and raging under orange light.

Prepared to jump in the blaze.

Fear clings tight.

Zelda clings tighter.

“They were mine. They were mine.”

Snot on her sleep shift.

Better to think on than the darker stains.

“They were Death’s. Learn it sister, or your next lesson won’t come from me. Won’t be kind.”

Body wrenched from reaching arms.

“This fire should be yours.”

Heavy swallow.

Hilda goes back to bed.

Zelda stays up till the coals can no longer catch.

Fit of beneficence.

Pet cemetery made.

She returns to a favorite doll missing.

She pinches Hilda for not learning a thing.

Hilda cries.

Mother holds her close.

Zelda never gets her doll back.

 

~*~

 

They don’t play house anymore.

Zelda father, Hilda mother, puppy baby.

Dolls as cousins.

Make-believe only ending with pretend sleep.

Sleep signaled as goodnight kisses.

Signal kisses codenamed.

 _Cherries_.

 _Good night. Good end_.

Hilda no longer wants to be mother.

Quick end.

She says good.

It is not.

No more code names.

No more dolls.

No more Cherries.

Puppy turns to dog.

They don’t play house anymore.

She misses it.

 

~*~

 

Praise Freya.

Mother in the church, glowing and nervous.

Paper yet to burn.

Edward whispers blasphemy.

Father’s hand tight on his shoulder.

In reprimand.

In terror.

The Queen is ecstatic.

Not mother.

Praise Freya.

She sighs. Hilda hugs her.

Mother performs Handmaiden duties.

Children on parade for the Queen’s entertainment.

Edward impresses.

She passes.

Hilda sits on the Queen’s lap.

Envy burns green and sickly.

She wishes hallowed fasting went faster.

Feast of Feasts.

Flesh.

She wishes she hadn’t wished.

Humans, the scariest monsters.

Jaws do bite, claws do catch.

Bones go snicker-snack.

Frenzy the beast.

Father brings them offerings.

Hilda ghosts, pale and translucent.

She raises it to her lips.

Once.

Twice.

Third time, Zelda takes it.

Her jaw works.

It’s cold.

Praise Freya.

Hilda clutches her hand walking home.

Watches her brush teeth.

Vigorously.

Huddle close, second bed abandoned.

Nesting together, Hilda gives her Cherries.

She waits for soft sleep breath.

She cries.

Praise...

No.

Not Freya.

This sacrifice wasn’t for her.

 

~*~

 

Summer sixteen.

Hand stinging.

Eyes open, she sees him.

He is terrible.

Glorious.

She loves him.

She signs his book.

She, a singular.

 

~*~

 

She comes home.

An infrequency.

Her parents are happy she’s back.

A rarity.

Hilda’s lips are still Cherries, still hers.

Hilda’s eyes are lemons.

“You’ve been kissing someone else.”

Sour pucker.

Sucker punch.

“Yes.”

Eyes squint tighter.

Will sting if she wounds.

“You’ve been devoured.”

“You don’t know.”

Hilda unpleasant when rankled.

“Bad liar. Bad thoughts.”

“You can’t read them.”

“You don’t know.”

A year changes things.

But not sisters.

Not Hilda.

Not yet.

Second bed no longer abandoned.

No more nests.

No more Cherries.

She goes back before she can miss it.

 

~*~

 

Hilda sixteen and shaking.

She comes to the forest.

To see her.

To see Him.

He is still terrible.

She still loves him.

She looks to Hilda.

No light, no love.

No more singularity.

 

~*~

 

Hilda is at Academy.

Hilda is loved here.

She is not surprised.

Green and sickly, envy burns.

Hilda is a siren of home calling, of soft smiling, of unflexing fervor.

She is not Academy.

She is warm.

They will ravage her.

She cannot see consequence.

She learns everything but her own power.

They love her reading mind, they use her mind reading.

She thinks she’s making friends.

Little Hilda Spellman, bringing upperclassmen to their knees, internal horrors on display.

The consequences will come.

Zelda warns.

“Stop it. Or else.”

“They’re bullies.”

“You’re hurting them.”

“But it’s good.”

“You don’t know.”

“I do.”

Stubborn mule.

They find her familiars.

She finds spider legs.

All that’s left.

She learns nothing at all.

Harrowing lesson.

Comes from Zelda.

It is not kind.

“I spared you pain.”

“You caused it.” 

“Then finally learn.”

She does.

Until she doesn’t.

 

~*~

 

“The ground was cold this time.”

“Don’t be naughty in winter.”

“You won’t be here in summer.”

“I’ll do it before I leave.”

“No thank you.”

 

~*~

 

The Cain pit is worse than fire.

It’s the only lesson that sticks.

But it does.

Praise Satan.

The sacrifice isn’t for him.

 

~*~

 

They nest together her last night.

She’s leaving again.

She’s always been first.

Hilda is mourning.

Vigorously.

“Visit me sometimes.”

“No.”

“Miss me too.”

“Definitely not.”

“Bad liar. Sad thoughts.”

She rolls over.

On top.

“Enough. I want Cherries.”

She is rolled over.

Not on top.

She is given Cherries.

And then some.

 

~*~

 

She leaves.

She does visit.

She does miss.

Time drips slowly.

 

~*~

 

Two years toasted.

She comes back.

It’s what they do.

Both of them.

Two years changes things.

But not sisters.

Not her.

Not ever.

“You’re done. Now what?”

“Who knows.”

“Come with me.”

A laugh.

“And do what?”

“What I do.”

“Babies are your thing.”

“We can share.”

Another laugh.

Lemon juice in a paper cut.

“We don’t do that.”

“We’ve always done that.”

Seconds tick.

She feels herself aging.

“Hilda.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Satan forbid such catastrophe.”

“There, I’m not going.”

Fear clings tight.

Zelda clings tighter.

“Please.”

She is radiant.

“Alright.”

 

~*~

 

China.

Czechoslovakia.

Russia.

Romania.

India.

Italy.

Greece.

Germany.

Egypt.

England.

Hilda insists they stay longer.

She grumbles.

Hilda strips, drunk bath in the Thames.

They stay for decades.

 

~*~

 

The years change things.

But not sisters.

Their hearts and hands run in similar circles.

They come back.

They share.

Cherries involved.

And then some.

 

~*~

 

Change in death, in location, in brother’s position.

They go home.

A mortal and a wedding ring.

Their mother’s.

Zelda does not like her.

Not because of her ignorance, her attitude, her short soap bubble life.

But also, yes.

But also, Hilda.

She makes Hilda different.

More prone to outside ventures which do not include Zeldas.

Prone to venturing out among mortals.

Prone to helping them.

She allows the charms, the cures, even the protections.

But she won’t allow the false loves.

“You have to stop this.”

“But it’s good.”

“You know it’s not.”

“It’s an almost.”

“Not enough.”

“You don’t know.”

 

~*~

 

The soap bubble is there to welcome Hilda back from death.

Not Zelda.

The soap bubble runs her a bath.

Not Zelda.

The soap bubble nests with her.

Not Zelda.

Zelda does not like her.

 

~*~

 

Soap bubble and brother make a baby.

A half magic soap bubble.

Zelda likes her a lot.

Edward asks a sacrifice.

A secret.

She wants to say no.

She sees soap bubble and sister sharing tea.

She says yes.

 

~*~

 

Brother and soap bubble gone.

She’s left, failing.

Falling.

What sister lets family die, stay dead?

She asks Hilda a sacrifice.

Hilda goes very hard, very cold.

“No.”

“I need to know how it feels.”

“I’ll tell you.”

“Not that.”

Hand around her throat.

Justice.

She anticipates.

She only keeps breathing.

“This burden is not yours to share.”

Lemon juice poured down.

“We can share.”

The hand leaves.

She’s left, breathless.

“We’ve always done that.”

Misery resorts to whining.

Hilda tucks her in.

She fights the magic.

She does not want unnatural sleep.

She wants Cherries and unnatural death.

Hilda wins.

“We won’t do _that_.”

 

~*~

 

New code name.

 _Sabrina_.

 _Bad end. Restart_.

Lessons lessen violence.

Hilda never learns what she’s supposed to. 

They play house again.

Zelda father, Hilda mother, baby baby.

Ambrose as cousin.

No need for make-believe to end.

Cherries still involved.

And then some.

 

~*~

 

Hilda never learns what she’s supposed to.

Sewing dissent in their baby’s young and histrionic mind.

Spare her such teenage angst.

But Sabrina is built in innocent exception.

No big sister to teach her.

No sister sacrifices to keep her pure. 

No wonder her path keeps winding. 

 

~*~

 

Hilda loses a tooth.

She’s never been able to part from any part of her. 

It rests milky and secret by her breast. 

Secret spills out. 

She does love ‘ _I told you so_ ’s. 

Hilda notices. 

“Do we share teeth then?”

“What’s yours is mine.”

“Hmm...”

 

~*~

 

Sabrina gets taught. 

Lessonless lessons. 

Children died. 

Hilda died. 

Witches hurting witches. 

Unspeakable when they can’t come back. 

 

~*~

 

Dream Hilda can’t come back. 

It is unspeakable.

Real Hilda is alive. 

She is radiant. Is stunning.

Fear clings tight.

Zelda clings tighter.

Hilda squirms away. 

 

~*~

 

Hilda gets a job.

Zelda gets a job. 

Zelda gets a man. 

And then some, and then some, and then some. 

Bittersweet lemons. 

Real open wounds. 

No Cherries.

 

~*~

 

A wee circle of four. 

Zelda leaves first. 

She’s always been the first.

Hilda’s got power, Hilda’s got kisses.

She’s got a baby. 

Hilda’s getting her own room. 

Play-pretend house shatters. 

Hilda no longer wants to be mother.

Zelda gives up the baby. 

Leticia won’t be safe. 

Excuse. 

The sacrifice is not for her. 

 

~*~

 

They nest together her last night. 

Leticia dozing near them, soon to be leaving. 

Zelda is mourning. 

Vigorously. 

“We’ll visit her sometimes.”

“Yes.”

“Miss her too.”

“Definitely so.”

Sour pucker. 

Sucker punch. 

“You’ll never say that to me.”

Silent room. 

Stammering hearts. 

Hilda unpleasant when rankled. 

“Not that.”

Hilda sits up on her knees, towering over sheets and pillows and Zelda. 

She is radiant. Is stunning. Is lovely. 

Zelda shivers. 

“We share teeth and tongues—not thoughts?”

“Not that.”

“I want Cherries.”

Tastes like lemons, then biting, then blood. 

Then nothing. 

“I’ve had a lifetime of lessons.”

“You’ve never learned.”

Fear clings tight. 

Zelda clings tighter.

Hilda gets out of bed. 

“Are you afraid of me?”

More questions unvoiced. 

Still heard. 

_Are you missing me?_

_Are you still mine?_

Throat goes hoarse with clogging truth.

“I am not.”

Hilda smiles. 

She is radiant. Is stunning. Is lovely.

Is unkind. 

Is ugly. 

“Bad liar.”

Hilda leaves. 

Bad thought. 

She won’t come back.

**Author's Note:**

> i dunno  
> i was trying something new


End file.
